


Where Thou Diest

by waylandiish



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments (Movies), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, M/M, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 15:41:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14876609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waylandiish/pseuds/waylandiish
Summary: "Entreat me not to leave thee." Clary Fray came to the New York Institute soon after Jace Wayland, following the death of his father, where they became best friends, and, eventually, parabatai. A bond so strong that to be in love is forbidden... but aren't accords meant to be broken?





	Where Thou Diest

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I own the rights to none of these characters and am not affiliated with Cassandra Clare, the Shadowhunter Chronicles, Shadowhunters TV, nor Freeform (who is on thin fucking ice right now). Enjoy reading, folks.

**December, 2001**

Jace Wayland hadn’t quite gotten used to the New York Institute; it was so incredibly quiet, even if the boy had previously only lived with his father in the family’s manor. The Lightwoods were species foreign to him, and he still didn’t know how to act around them. Maryse stroked his hair while he read over books with Alexander, who would glare at him consistently. Isabelle would bust into his room without knocking to ask him to watch her train. Robert Lightwood had repeatedly told Jace he was proud of his progress, even impressed to see how well trained he was for his age. Most shadowhunters were taught basic skills before beginning official training, which begun anywhere from age ten to twelve. 

 

His father had never expressed pride, and would never, on the account that he was dead. 

 

The nightmares were still so lucid, haunting the boy; he was watching his father be slaughtered from the slit of a closet door. No matter how talented, no matter how fast, no matter how strong Maryse and Robert tried to convince Jace he was, all he thought about was how it was never enough to save his father. He threw himself into his studies, knowing his father would never want him to slow down or give up on becoming a great Shadowhunter. That would show weakness, and his father would sooner return as a ghost if he saw Jace become the type of man who let death stand in the way of excellence. 

 

Everyone died. It was time for Jace to get over it. 

 

It was, however, nice to have someone else to train with who was similar in age. Alexander was tall, with long arms, and a presence that could be intimidating… if he could only fight. He was always so hesitant with a blade, and even more so with his hands; Jace could spar with him without ever letting Alexander get into an offensive position. One night, Jace woke up in a cold sweat, and had padded down the corridor to train, only to nearly be shot by an arrow in the head as he walked through the door. 

 

Alexander had expertly hit the frame of the door beside his ear, the steel head buried in the polished wood. “What are you doing up, Wayland?” the boy scoffed, relaxing his bow.

 

“Trying not to get shot, Lightwood,” Jace retorted, yanking the arrow out of the wall as he moved towards the Lightwood, handing it back. “What’s up with you, Alec? Still mad I put you on your back earlier?” the blond snickered softly, not entirely used to regarding the feelings of anyone else. His dad used to chew his ass all day, but Jace wouldn’t dare respond. He quite enjoyed living. 

 

“Shut up, Wayland!” Alexander snapped. “My name’s  _ Alexander _ , not Alec! And maybe I’d be able to concentrate if you weren’t so focused on yourself,” he growled, stomping back towards the targets. “You know, it’s hard to  _ want _ to be better when no one seems to notice you. Ever since you came here, Isabelle doesn’t come to my training sessions anymore, my parents don’t even see my progress. They just see you, and I get your dad died. That sucks, but it also sucks to never have your parents give a damn.”

 

Jace frowned, standing there with his palms to his side, unsure of how to react. “Yeah, well, it was just me and my dad my entire life, and he never said he was proud of me or that he loved me, but it never bothered me. Perhaps, you should stiffen up; it’s not good for a Shadowhunter to feel so much,” he muttered, remembering the several times he was told the exact words by his own father.

 

“My parents haven’t said they’re proud of me, but they can’t stop saying how proud they are of  _ you _ ,” Alexander mumbled coolly, glaring so deep into Jace’s gold eyes that he felt the pain in his gut. He felt the pain of being unappreciated, of feeling forgotten, of feeling unsatisfied. 

 

He was silent, not knowing how to respond as the two boys stood in the training room, staring at their feet, before Jace lifted his head, a crooked grin on his lips. “I think you’re pretty good. But you always have the wrong weapon, Alec,” he shrugged, motioning to his bow. “You look like you know what you’re doing with that, and this is the first time I’m seeing you use it,” he mused, gripping Alexander’s arm and facing him towards the targets. 

 

“Load the bow, keep your arm straight,” he moved Alexander’s arms into position, slapping the bottom of his right elbow. “Keep your arm up, Lightwood. Keep your eyes open, take in a breath, and slowly, release your breath and arrow at the same time.”

 

The silver arrow whistled through the air, burying itself into the center of the skull of a foam figure. Both of the nephilim, stepped back in shock, laughing softly. “I knew you could do it,” Jace whispered, turning to look up at Alexander, who, for the first time, smiled at Jace. It was small, but there was something satisfying about its presence. 

 

“So… why do you insist on calling me Alec?” the older pondered quietly as he moved to pluck the arrow from the dummy. Jace only shrugged, flashing a bright grin towards the Lightwood. 

“When we’re in battle, it’ll be easier to call out for Alec instead of Alexander. Isabelle likes it; I call her Izzy,” he mused before he reached up, rubbing the back of his head. “My name is Jonathan. Jonathan Christopher, but everyone calls me Jace. Easier for battle,” he said warmly, swatting Alec’s arm playfully.

 

The energy was better, lighter; it seemed to Jace that Alec had, in the last thirty minutes, warmed up to him. “Why are you awake?” the younger wondered, moving towards the training weapons, lazily looking through until he found a sparring staff. 

 

“Why were you?” Alec replied pointedly as he looked down a freshly loaded arrow, staring at the chest of a dummy, misshapen in certain places from generations of training. 

 

Jace was quiet for some time, spinning the staff absently, before he sighed softly. “Nightmares. Ever since… well, y’know. It’s been hard to sleep, is all; I come here to distract myself. If I work hard enough, I’m tired by the end of it, and I don’t dream at all. Just sleep,” Jace replied, taking his stance in front of a dummy a few places down from Alec. 

 

Just in case Alec isn’t as good as he seems. 

 

The Lightwood nodded, retrieving the arrow as he swept his dark hair away from his eyes. “Mom just got a call from an old friend. We’re going to get another kid, and I still don’t know if I want you to stay,” he grunted, making Jace pause his movements, panting softly as he turned to Alec. The elder was busy loading his bow, until he looked up to meet Jace’s gaze, smirking softly. 

 

Jace took the opportunity to cast over a smirk of his own, shaking his head. “Nah. You love me already, I can feel it,” he chuckled.

 

“We’ll see about that, Wayland.”

 

* * *

 

 

A week had past since Jace and Alec had trained that late night, and as Jace awoke, he noticed the usual dead silent Institute had an unusual amount of activity. He could hear Hodge, the man responsible for their training. Hodge was laughing, accompanied with two unfamiliar voices, piquing the boy’s curiosity. Donning a pair of sweats and a white shirt, he padded barefoot out to the corridor, silently moving to the corner, peeking around to see who Hodge was talking to. 

 

Beside him, Jace saw a woman, decorated in runes, with dark copper hair and porcelain skin. She had her head tipped back in a warm laugh, a collection of giggles spilling out of her mouth as she gripped Hodge’s shoulder, obviously displaying a sort of affection towards him. Like they were old friends.

 

Who knew Hodge had friends?

 

Her black shirt had chalk marks on it, and her jeans had similar spots of paint that seem to be permanently part of the fabric. The runes, both the fresh and faded markings, were intimidating, and yet her presence spread nothing but a maternal warmth. Shaking his head, he only rolled his eyes. 

 

Wonder what that was like. 

 

He moved his head to see further around the corner, and saw a kid. A girl, who looked no older than himself, with fiery red hair, and a freckled face. She stood quietly, hands behind her back as she smiled up at her mother. 

 

He must have been staring because he saw her head snap towards him, and he immediately stumbled back, ducking back around the wall. 

 

“Hey! Come back!” he heard a voice that sounded like bells; cheerful, soft, and had never seen their father killed in front of them. Pressed against the wall, he watched the girl bound around the corner, green eyes falling on him with a wide, dimpled grin. 

 

“Do you live here, too? I was beginning to think I was going to be the only one,” she giggled, push her messy auburn locks behind her ears. “I’m Clary. Clary Fairchild,” she boasted, her chest puffing out with pride as she held her hand out. 

 

Staring down at the hand for a moment, Jace cleared his throat and stepped forward, squaring his shoulders properly as he gripped her hand firmly, shaking it. “Jace Wayland.” Approaching her, he noticed she was slightly taller than him, and she also had similar chalk marks on her denim button down.

 

She hardly looked threatening; a light denim shirt, pastel orange pants, and white shoes didn’t exactly scream DEMON KILLER. 

 

“Don’t you dare underestimate me, Wayland.” Clary’s voice snapped Jace out of his own thoughts, and he snatched back his hand, burrowing his brows. “I’m the best Shadowhunter this world has ever, and  _ will _ ever see, and I plan to make sure everyone here knows it. That means you, Jace,” she stated pointedly, tipping her chin up proudly. 

 

The way she said it didn’t sound necessarily certain; she did not sound as if she knew for a fact she was the best, but more like a challenge. Like she  _ wanted _ him to doubt her, and it made him smirk, shrugging his shoulders. “You’re gonna have to get through me, Fairchild,” he threw back, gold and emerald hues glittering alike.

 

“Challenge accepted.”

  
  
  


**January 17, 2003**

“Ah!”

 

The raven haired nephilim screamed, stumbling back with a hand on his face, the Voyance rune’s black marking covered in the blood spilling from Alec’s nose. He stood, panting as he gripped his sparring rod tighter, letting the blood spill from his face, as he vaulted into the air, sending the staff down towards Clary Fairchild’s shoulder. 

 

While she attempted to stumble back, Alec’s reach surpassed her nervous stride, and she doubled over from the impact of the rod, gripping her shoulder with a cry. Almost growling, she moved with her body’s reaction, rolling out of the reach of Alec’s next strike. As she bounded back to her feet, she heard the sound of Alec’s rod hit the marbled ground as she swung her plastic weapon, striking him in the throat. 

 

The Lightwood choked, holding his throat in shock before he felt another blow to his stomach, causing him to jerk forward, protecting his pulsing midsection. He lifted his head to her, blue eyes wide as he realized the mistake in his posture, or  _ lack of _ , and her rod struck his forehead, sending him onto his back. 

 

He laid on the floor as a heavy boot weighed on his chest, Clary’s training weapon aimed in his face as she triumphantly grinned down at him. Coughing, he shoved her foot off of his chest, wiping the dried blood from his face.

 

“Whatever, Fairchild. Lucky fight,” he muttered, rubbing his ribs, noting the subtle throb to them. He turned his head to the far wall, outside of the sparring area, and noticed Jace and Izzy’s presence. Jace was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, and golden gaze glittering mischievously while Izzy was practically bouncing where she stood. 

 

“Was it a lucky fight the last three times, too, Lightwood?” Clary taunted, green eyes so alike Jace’s that Alec had the similar urge to punch her in the face. As he did with Jace. Every minute. Of his entire life.

 

“That was amazing, Alec!” Isabelle praised, rushing up to him and taking his hand. Isabelle had also received her Voyance rune; traditionally, the eye shaped marking was the first rune for all shadowhunters, to commemorate the official start of their training. 

 

The last few months have been wild for all of them, and their skin had begun to resemble more and more the warriors they would become. The deflect rune on Alec’s neck, the agility rune on Jace’s forearm, the calm anger rune on Clary’s throat, and the angelic rune on Izzy’s clavicle. Of course, they all had many more underneath their clothes, but Hodge had them focusing on runes that effected external properties. He had them unlock doors, create fires, change water to wine. 

 

Clary was extremely good at it. 

 

They all had their strengths; while each of them were developing quickly and excelling in each subject of training, there was something to distinguish each one of them from the other. Jace was an exceptional fighter, Clary was gifted with runes, Alec was an archery prodigy, and Isabelle had taken to a whip when she first began training, and had excelled exponentially with it, as well as her strategic ability in mission simulations even out did Jace. 

 

“You were brilliant, Clary,” Jace said as she approached, sweeping her disheveled bangs from her sweating forehead. She smiled, leaning against the sparring rod, obviously flattered with his compliment. “It’s a shame you weren’t fighting someone good.” The boyish grin on Jace’s face was soon twisted into a smirk, and Clary’s face fell into one of annoyance and determination. 

 

“Can you, perhaps,  _ not _ insult me when I’m twenty feet away from you, Wayland? Unless you want me to punch you in the head…  _ Again _ ,” Alec snapped, rolling his eyes as he moved to put away his staff, stopping short as Jace put his hand over Alec’s. He lifted his eyes to Jace’s, slowly letting the staff slide into Jace’s hand as the blond moved back towards Clary. In the last year, he had finally gotten to a height that surpassed her, while she had barely grown at all. Still, she glared up at him with a warrior’s expression, crouched in preparation in the sparring area. 

 

Gripping his staff, Jace pounded the bottom into the marble twice to announce the beginning of the fight, and they both lunged. 

 

This fight was different than the previous; Alec and Clary were so distinguishable different in their approach, their follow through, their…  _ everything _ . Watching Clary and Jace fight, however, was like watching a dance. While the four of them were just beginning in their official training, the two moved like one body, as if they had been fighting all their lives. 

 

Like they were meant to fight together all their lives. 

 

When Jace struck, Clary dodged, and when she countered, Jace stopped the blow with his. There was no other progress in the battle other than the sound of the plastic staffs beating against each other and the grunts of frustration from both children. The staffs clashed together, and, in a rush of energy, Clary moved their interlocked rods clockwise, hooking her staff beneath his. She dislodged the weapon from his grasp, and as he moved to grab it, she struck his abdomen. Jace doubled forward slightly, absorbing the blow, while Clary swung her body around, sweeping Jace’s legs out from under him with her leg. 

 

Jace was on his back, looking up at the same image of Clary that Alec had once met moments before. 

 

“I thought you were supposed to be  _ good _ , Wayland?” she demanded, emerald hues narrowed, but her mouth twitched, hiding a smile of absolute shock. 

 

Defeating Jace was not an easy feat in their small group. 

 

And she expected Jace to be frustrated, to be sore about losing. Hell, they all did, but he only smiled. It was slow, nothing but a twitch, until it turned into a toothy grin, holding his hand out to her to help him onto his feet. 

 

“Yeah, yeah. There will be a next time, Fairchild,” Jace shrugged, and Alec rolled his eyes in the distance with Izzy. “And you will succumb to my glory.”

 

“Yeah, right, Jace. Get over yourself,” Izzy scoffed, idly running her finger of the eye on the back of her hand. “Are you all up for some lunch?”

 

“Are you making it? Because I think I’d rather eat my socks.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jace was happy.

 

He missed his dad, as strict as he was, but he finally felt like he had a real family. He felt like he was always meant to be with the Lightwoods and Clary; he loved training with Alec, teasing Isabelle, and Clary… Well, she was his best friend. He couldn’t imagine where he would be if she hadn’t came when she did, and he cherished every moment with her. Everything from the sparring to the quiet moments when she draws while he practices the piano.

 

She was the calm he needed. 

 

Sighing softly, he reached down to pick up the discarded clothes from the day, placing them neatly into a hamper as he changed into a pair of shorts. He had showered, he brushed his teeth, he flossed, rinsed his mouth, and stared at the faded marks he had already gained from the short year of training. 

 

It made him smile, seeing a fraction of the shadowhunter he was to become. He was always meant to be great; he would accept nothing less than greatness in his position as a warrior.

 

_ It’s what father would have wanted. _

 

He padded out of his bathroom, and moved to sit on the bench at the foot of his bed, lifting his legs and pressing his thighs to his chest. Dark eyes watched as the clock moved, second by agonizing second, until both hands reached the twelve. 

 

“Happy birthday!”

 

He nearly hit his head on the ceiling, he jumped so high. His reaction ended with him falling awkwardly off the bench, and Clary stood giggling in his doorway, holding her hand over her mouth. 

 

He grunted, pushing himself up, giving her an annoyed glance before he smirked softly towards her, waving her into his room. “What in the Angel are you doing, Clary?” he asked as she closed the door behind her, very obviously holding something behind her back. “What’s that?” He canted his head, overcome with curiosity. 

 

“Well, you only turn twelve once, right?” she mumbled, rocking on the heels of her feet, and Jace quickly saw she was nervous. “Look, I get it’s not a huge thing in our culture, or whatever, to give presents. Or, at least,  _ mundane _ -esque gifts, that don’t include a blade or armor.” She crinkled her nose in slight irritation at the thoughts inside her head, and Jace watched her freckles all collided together. It was cute. “ _ But _ , my mother and I quite like some of the mundane culture, like painting flowers, Valentine’s day, and Santa Claus.”

 

“Santa  _ what _ ?”

 

“Not now Jace, I’m trying to give you a gift here,” Clary sighed, and Jace slowly moved to sit on his bed, looking up at her with soft, patient eyes. “I couldn’t go anywhere, and I couldn’t get my hands on a seraph blade, so I hope this will do.” She pulled her hand from behind her back, holding a long piece of paper, portraying a lead sketch of himself. 

 

He looked… heroic. His knuckles were wrapped, as if he’d just gotten done fighting with Alec, and he had bruises around his chest, complemented by several runes, and he was facing the viewer, smiling. Laughing, even, as he brushed his hair back. In the corner, it read in large charcoal writing:  **HAPPY 12TH BIRTHDAY, JACE WAYLAND** . 

 

“You don’t like it?” Clary’s voice was soft, so soft that Jace almost misheard it as he lifted his eyes. Her face morphed into frustration, stomping on the ground. “I should have just stole a freakin’ seraph blade,” she muttered, not mad at Jace, but genuinely upset at the idea her present wasn’t satisfying enough. 

 

“Clary… I love it,” he assured, his expression nothing but genuine and grateful. “No one has ever given me something like this… Something so personal. I did get a spaghetti bath when I was five. I’m not  _ quite _ sure if this beats it, but it’s a close second,” he smirked up at her, happy to see her smile return.

 

“Huh… The image of you covered in spaghetti… Strange.” Jace wasn’t whimsical enough to request something so ridiculous. Glancing around his room, it was the definition of  _ clean _ ; white marbled floors in light grey walls. Not a thing out of place, haphazardly discarded, or wrinkled. “Also, for my birthday, I expect a macaroni and cheese bath, thank you. I will accept nothing else.”

 

Jace laughed, moving towards his desk to pluck a thumbtack from the drawer, before he lifted the picture onto the wall. He stuck the sketch to the wall in front of his desk, turning around to grin at Clary. “Now I can praise myself every day,” he sighed, as if in a dream of his, while Clary only rolled her eyes. 

 

In a rush of fiery red movements, Jace felt arms curled around him, hugging him tight as Clary’s messy red locks tickled under his chin. His taut body slowly relaxed, his arms moving to curl around Clary’s shoulders, his cheek on her head. 

 

“Happy birthday, Jace,” she whispered into his chest, and he had never felt more safe in his entire life. He had never felt so wanted, so cherished in any of his previous time with his father. No matter how much Maryse or Robert coddled him after Michael Wayland’s death, he had never felt so loved as he did with Clary. 

 

It was a love that had previously only read about. A love few shadowhunters were ever able to experience in their life. 

 

He searched for the word to describe how it felt, and as she pulled away, it came spilling from his lips. “Parabatai,” he whispered as she stepped away, staring up at him in confusion. He blinked, processing what he had just said, before his eyes became wide, golden orbs, while his hands gripped her arms. “Clary! That’s it!” he exclaimed, smiling wide. 

 

“What’s it, Jace? And, ow, by the way; let go of my arms,” she grunted, shrugging away his touch, staring up at him curiously. 

 

“Clary, you’re my best friend. From the second we met, we’ve been best friends. Like we were always meant to meet; we were meant to fight in battles together. We will train together, fight together,  _ die _ together. Our bones will be next to each other in the City of Bones,” he breathed, practically gasping with excitement as she held his hand out to her. 

 

“Clary, will you be my parabatai?”

 

She stared at him, expressionless, at first. She looked at his outstretched hand, and then she looked at his face, lit up with a sudden burst of affection, determination, and promise. Her lip slowly curled into a matching grin, her hand clasping his. 

 

“Who else is going to be able to deal with you?”

* * *

 

**author's note /**  


sO, this is the prologue or preface or whatever. basically, i'm trying to show that jace, while he will not be parabatai with alec, still has a close bond with him. also, i'm trying to set the foundation of the strong bond clary and jace will have in the story. PLEASE IGNORE ANY SMALL TYPOS/MISTAKES. just pretend you didn't see them. that's what i do. with my entire life lmao. I HOPE YOU ALL LIKE IT! also, this will be primarily inspired by the BOOKS but if you're a fan of the show, you'll still do pretty fine reading it. let me know how y'all like it.


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